


Synchronization Exercises

by PompousPickle



Category: Almost Human
Genre: Dancing, Fluff, M/M, Sassbot 3000 and his human sidekick dance and also snark at each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-05
Updated: 2013-12-05
Packaged: 2018-01-03 14:22:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1071493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PompousPickle/pseuds/PompousPickle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian and John "celebrate" after a long day at the bar. Dorian snarks his way into getting John to dance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Synchronization Exercises

**Author's Note:**

> Took a break from writing "Different" so I could write Emotionally Dumb Boyfriends dancing. Thanks goes to Tonberry who constantly gives me these ideas.

It started after Kennex and Dorian dispatched a robbery at the Main Street Bank. For the most part, the whole thing went smoothly. Well, except the part where John’s leg locked up while in pursuit of the robber and three people nearly died. But yeah. Other than that? Smoothly.

“We’re going to have to do something about that leg.” Dorian finally said as they sat at the bar rail at McQuade’s. John took another large gulp of his beer and set it down firmly, looking over at his partner.

“Yeah?” He repsonded, with all the interest of a Canadian on the Fourth of July. “Your little olive oil trick was supposed to work. So don’t go blaming me.”

Dorian nearly laughed. Nearly. “Olive oil isn’t magic. I know you don’t know that because you’re useless in the kitchen. So I’ll let it slide.”

“I’ll have you know that I can make a really great bowl of cereal.” John finished his beer and nodded at the bartender to bring him another. He was rounding on his fifth now and beginning to feel pretty good for once. Even four beers in on another night, he’d never feel this relaxed. He chalked it up to the adrenaline from the robbery. Mostly because he refused to admit that it had anything to do with the DRN sitting to his left.

“Seriously John. You need to work on your leg. And I’m not talking olive oil. Your head constantly rejects the limb as an extension of yourself. You nearly died today. And you would have, if I wasn’t there.” A beat passed between them. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Suddenly four beers didn’t seem like enough.

The bartender brought John another and he wasted no time getting started on it. “Look, I appreciate the concern, _Mom_. But I took you out drinking to celebrate. Not for you to lecture me on how to make a giant slab of plastic and metal ‘an extension of myself’.”

“Is that what I am too? A giant slab of plastic and metal?”

“Yes, actually,” John said, unsure whether he would have said that if he didn’t have alcohol in his system. “In fact, you have a lot in common with my leg. For example, you are both annoying and constantly insist on interfering with my life.”

“And you need me,” Dorian supplied quickly. “And the leg, too.” His eyes betrayed nothing as he looked away from John and towards the rest of the bar. It was nearly empty at this time of night. A few of the servers lingered around, and a couple of late-night drinkers sat around somberly. Other than that, it was just them, the bartender, and quiet patter of music in the background.

“Practice,” Dorian finally said again after a stony silence. “You could do with some practice on the leg. That would help.”

“What? Like exercise?” John laughed at the thought. He did some exercise. Occasionally. Enough to keep him in shape for running around and carrying firearms. Being in a coma didn’t exactly do his body any favors in that regard.

Dorian only shrugged. “Exercise, sure. Any kind of movement, really. Walking. Dancing.” He paused for a moment to think about it. He finally looked back at John with a decisive smile. “You could do with some dance lessons, John.”

John put down his beer again, nearly half-gone at this point. He felt a heavy buzz around him. “What’s wrong with the way I dance?”

“ _Everything_. You just rock back and forth uselessly and move your arms up and down.” Dorian demonstrated from his chair. “You look like you’re jacking off two guys at once.”

“I do…” John started to shout, before moving his voice down to a whisper. “I do not look that bad when I dance.”

Dorian only scoffed out a laugh. “I promise you, you do. You’d do better if you moved your legs anyway. Think of it as ‘synchronization exercises’.”

John took this moment to take another large gulp of his beer. “Yeah? And I bet you know all about dancing then? Other than having the internet in your brain telling you what to do?”

Dorian shrugged and moved off the barstool. “Sometimes that’s all you need.” The fibers in his face flashed blue for only a moment before a song began to blare over the bar speakers. The bartender looked up in shock at the sudden change in music and in volume. The song was slow, but with a saucy beat. Dorian only held his hand out to John expectantly, but the detective refused to take it.

Instead, the man stood up on his own accord, leaving his beer on the bar and stepping towards Dorian. Before he could say anything snarky or sarcastic, Dorian immediately grabbed his hands, shifting his own hands to the side. “The male lead always holds his hands like crab claws,” he demonstrates. “The female, that’s you, holds them like dog paws. Crab claws. Dog paws.”

“And I get to be the girl?” John asked as Dorian’s other hand nestled down to John’s waist. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol talking or not, but he liked it. It was warm and comfortable and he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed what the booze was doing to him. What Dorian was doing to him.

“Maybe if you were any good at dancing, you’d get to be the guy,” Dorian responded as he took a few steps forward, guiding John along. They were simple steps, forward and back, side to side. Nothing too difficult to follow. John was wondering if this was really supposed to be helping his leg or if Dorian was just being difficult. “As it stands, you’re the girl. So just follow what I do.”

John tried to count rhythms. He tried to remember the steps. He tried to block out the fact that people were _watching_ him dance in an empty bar after he was four and a half beers in. And it only made him stumble back, his leg falling out of sync as he did so, feeling it lock up under him.

“It’s easier if you don’t think about it,” Dorian murmured to him. But John could still see that smug grin all across the fucker’s face. He was enjoying seeing John struggle, enjoying being better than John at this.

“Your magic Google powers tell you that?” John bit back, his voice hushed. Dorian spun him backwards, following the same steps from the opposite angle. John moved after him with ease. As much as it killed him to admit it, he was right; it was easier if he just let Dorian take the lead. But damn him if he was ever going to say that out loud.

“The look on your face told me that one.” Dorian spun John back around again, taking a large step back with his left foot, forcing John to stretch out his synthetic right leg. “You’re pretty easy to read, John. You might want to watch that if we ever end up going undercover.”

“First you insult my dance moves and then you tell me that I’m a bad cop.” John laughed, feeling his face flush up from the booze. “You really are a piece of work. I’m perfectly fine working undercover.”

“That’s why you’re so bad at controlling your responses?” Dorian then smirked, leaning in closer. Too close. But John knew that he’s only stumble out of step if he tried to back up.  “Your breathing is getting rather fast.” Dorian thumbed John’s wrist with his hand. “And my readings say your pulse is picking up too.”  

“It’s more exercise than I thought.” John replies without missing a beat, without missing a step. Dorian only looks at him, as though his readings were also picking up on something else. “Also I’m drunk.” John supplies as a viable excuse.

“You’ve consumed 4 beers in the past two hours. Your liver breaks down one drink every hour. So with the backlog of two beers for your body to break down, your blood alcohol content should only be at…”

“Technically it was four and a half beers.” John retorts as Dorian spins him again. As much as he wanted to deny it, it was working. His legs followed easily. He wasn’t thinking about the synthetic, or getting it to work. It was just moving. As easily as he moved his left leg. As though it were a piece of himself.

“I bet Stahl loves a man who can dance,” Dorian said a little too quickly. The DRN stopped moving as he said it, though the song hadn’t quite ended yet. Their movements turned rocky and stiff as they moved apart.

Suddenly, John felt way too sober, and went back to his beer. “Yeah. I bet she’d be incredibly impressed by a man who can only dance the girl’s part.” He leaned against the rail, not bothering to go back into his seat. His leg did feel looser though, smoother.

Dorian smirked that typical little smile of his, rocking his head slightly to the side. “I’ll have to teach you how to lead then. Another time.” And if John hadn’t known better, he would have almost said that his partner looked anxious.

John glanced around the bar, at the servers and patrons who turned away from looking at them. The music quieted down and the world seemed to spin right back to normal. “Yeah,” he finished off the last of his fifth beer. “Same time next week?” 


End file.
